Impressions of a Reunion
by flutiedutiedute
Summary: Her chest heaved, and still no words – no acknowledgement of her arrival, of his imminent departure, or of the kiss that had just transpired between them.


**Title**: Impressions of a Reunion

**Author**: Robbie

**Spoilers**: General spoilers for the end of Season 11.

**Disclaimer**: The character(s) in this story belong to the bigshots who created (but certainly forget to upkeep) the television show ER.

**Summary**: Her chest heaved, and still no words – no acknowledgement of her arrival, of his imminent departure, or of the kiss that had just transpired between them.

**Author's** **Note**: The following is my own concoction of how I'd like to see Carter leave ER. It is ultimately a personal thanks to Noah and all of the great work he has done on ER and my own final tribute to the magic of Carby that the ER writers so rudely plucked from our screens (but not our hearts). To all the Carbies out there who never gave up, even after they broke up, even now that Noah is leaving the show, this one's for you …

-----

Partly cloudy, chance of scattered showers, the weatherman had said this morning. Yet, outside, the rain fell from the sky in torrents of cold drops, smacking the ground like a million soldiers deploying from the air. It was fitting, he thought – the dark stormy sky, the melancholy melody of raindrops pattering on the windowsill.

He leaned down, affixing a stripe of brown packing tape to the last box, then glanced around the room for the millionth time at the dozen or so boxes into which his entire life was packed. He was struck suddenly by the finality of it - this was really it. Tomorrow morning he would climb into a plane to Paris to re-unite with Kem and leave Chicago behind. Forever.

There had been a party last week, a big cake, some presents, even a couple of tears. But it still didn't seem quite real until this moment – seeing the cardboard boxes around the room, the suitcase sitting beside the front door. There was nothing left for him here, he'd tried to convince himself. Still, the thought of leaving terrified him – and he couldn't help but feel a little seed of doubt begin to sputter to life in the pit of his stomach.

For all intensive purposes, he was ready. All goodbyes had been made. His stuff was packed or in storage, scheduled to be shipped to his new home. His plane tickets were purchased, his house had been sold, and a new living arrangement was in place. He was really leaving – tomorrow.

John Carter was roused from his reverie by a loud knock on the front door. He wasn't expecting anyone – especially not at this hour, but rose to answer the door nonetheless.

He was shocked to find Abby on the other side of the door, drenched. Her hair fell in thick brown tendrils that plastered to her face by the rain. Her cheeks glowed a light cherry pink and her brown eyes flashed with electricity against the palette of her pale, pasty complexion. Without meaning to, he glanced at her body – at the thin shirt that hugged the curves of her chest, abdomen, and waist. He could barely tear away his glance long enough to meet her eyes – even drenched in torrential downpour, she was beautiful.

No words passed between them. For a long, still moment that seemed to last for an eternity, their eyes locked. The thought crossed his mind that he'd like to drown himself in the swirling tornado of her russet brown eyes just like this, the two of them, forever. Her shoulder twitched, distracting him for a split-second, and in a flurry of movement that is the antithesis to the moment that had just blossomed between them, he found her lips on his.

He was sure his cerebral cortex had shut down. His brain was speechless, thoughtless, and for another thick second, the only thing he was mildly aware of was the feeling of her warm salty lips on his, the passion of almost two years of unrequited love, the surging sensation that some monster of emotion was roaring to life inside him; his throbbing chest, a pulsating drive in his limbs.

He was about to lose himself completely when she pulled away, her eyes growing wide at what she had done, at the plethora of emotion surging through her own body. One finger tentatively rose and brushed along her swollen lower lip. He could hear their hearts beating loudly, harmonizing the percussive clips of the rain on the pavement.

Her chest heaved, and still no words – no acknowledgement of her arrival, of his imminent departure, or of the kiss that had just transpired between them. The kiss that had said it all; as if she had come, one last time, to prove herself that kissing him would do nothing to her because she was over him once and for all and nothing, nothing, not even the most primitive form of human passion – touch – could even make her heart skip. It had skipped – twice – and continued to pound, the heat sizzling between them in the pounding rain, he under the doorframe of the house, and she soaking wet, unable to move lest she fall.

She remained silent, unsure what to do now that she was sure of something she'd been denying since the moment he first kissed her during the smallpox scare 3 years ago – she was in love with John Truman Carter.

His lips burned where an instant ago, hers has eagerly but tenderly rested. His chest felt heavy, like breathing was the most complicated bodily function he could muster at this moment. Because he too had come to the same conclusion. Despite his better judgment – in fact – despite every ounce of willpower and notion of common sense that existed within him, he was in love – and always had been, since the moment he met her – with Abigail Lockhart.

Her lips opened, as if to speak, but before she could begin to utter a sound, he'd grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into the foyer of his house and out of the pouring rain. She stood there for a moment, awkwardly, as if she'd never imagined that the events of this evening would have ever placed her in the foyer of the man she loved so ardently, in secret. It had to be in secret, in repression – because they had tried, they had failed, and now he had a new love for whom he was leaving in approximately 12 hours.

Droplets of water cascaded down her body, pooling in a little puddle on the wood paneling beside the front door. But his eyes were locked on her face, and he was unsure if the water was simply dripping down her cheeks, or if she was crying.

Something in his rational mind finally got through and he was aware of the obligation to get her a towel to dry off. Today apparently wasn't a day for drying off, or for that matter, for rational thought. The next thing he knew, he had lunged forward and gathered the vulnerable being of his seldom-vulnerable-former-girlfriend into his arms, kissing her with a vigor he did not know he possessed.

She seemed to melt in his arms, the rigid uprightness of her torso twisted into his embrace – her arms snaked around his head, her fingers massaging his scalp, her pelvis pressing against waist. He was struck by a familiar thought that jutted forward like a distant memory, riding closer and closer towards him and coming into focus – her body was formed as if it was made to be pressed against his.

He found himself tearing her sodden shirt over her head, undoing her pants and pooling them in the puddle at her feet. He was aware only of the feeling of her hands slipping off his shorts and his shirt; her hands roaming his chest, his neck, massaging the delicate scars she knew well, and of her lips – leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

He lifted her, straddling his torso, into his arms and carried her ceremonially over the threshold into the bedroom. In that moment, each felt nothing but the touch of the other, the surging emotions and sensations overcoming their bodies. They were not John Carter and Abby Lockhart, but lovers split by time and consequence, and now, finally, after it was too late, reuniting.

She did not think of Jake, waiting across town over a carefully set table and the fleeting glow of candles, worrying; did not hear her cell-phone pealing madly from the pocket of her shorts. He did not think of Kem, of the love they had professed, of the house they had purchased, of the future they had planned – the children that would follow his stillborn son and the happiness they had ensured each other. These things were not important.

Her cry of pleasure pierced the air, almost the first sound she had made since her arrival, and he laughed, feeling himself flooded with the same exhilaration. In that moment, she was his and he was hers – for all eternity, it seemed. The white sheets of his bed billowed around their intertwined forms and they laughed and loved.

-----

Hours later, though the dark shroud of night still cloaked the room in darkness, an alarm blared. He had a plane to catch, a chapter of his life to close and another to embark upon. His eyes opened reluctantly to the darkness.

Though he could not see, the first thing he was aware of was her body against his, her brown hair curled and mussed across his chest. Her arm reached around his body, their fingers intertwined, even in sleep. He saw, finally, by the light of the gossamer moon, the curve of her breasts and stomach outlined against the night; the milky smoothness of her thighs, the dainty arch of her foot.

His heart was pierced with remorse. _Why now – when everything was at the cusp of change, did she help him realize that she was all he ever wanted for himself?_

Her eyelids fluttered, her own consciousness on the blurred line between sleep and being awake. When her eyes finally opened, she smiled, shyly – but so evocative of her feelings that he felt the urge to burst into tears.

"Morning," she murmured – the first to speak.

He smiled a bittersweet smile.

"Not quite – it's still dark outside."

She slowly extricated her fingers from his, reaching up instead to brush her hand along the stubble of his cheek. Her eyes still smiled, but he had the distinct impression – having known her for so long – that she herself was on the verge of tears.

"I'm sorry."

Her words filled the void left by the space in the conversation, but at the same time, their implication – which he both understood and agreed with – left him feeling even emptier.

"Don't say that, Abby."

She closed her eyes again, delicately, as if to remove herself from the emotional exchange, and he shifted himself to press his lips to hers, one last time.

"I, uh … have a flight to catch."

"I know."

"Abby?"

"Mmhmm."

"Why didn't you come?"

She sighed, understanding that he was referring to the goodbye party that had been thrown for him that she had missed.

"I was working … I couldn't face the feelings, the finality of it all – that you were really going away. For all this time, even though you weren't mine, I could still count on seeing you everyday. I couldn't admit to myself that …"

He reached down and tucked a tendril of her hair behind her ear, and impulsively kissed her again. She smiled ironically.

"… that after all that happened, I never stopped loving you."

"You never told me you loved me – that's part of why I left. I couldn't handle the fact that I was falling deeper and deeper for you and you didn't feel the same way."

"But I did …"

"I know."

"But you still have to go … to Paris, back to Kem."

He rolled onto his back.

"I guess so, huh?"

"This doesn't change anything."

"You have Jake, Abby – he makes you happy."

"I guess so."

She rolled over on top of him, their beating hearts side by side and kissed him, hungrily.

"I love you," she murmured between kisses.

He closed his eyes, letting her flood his senses yet again, actively attempting to shut his mind to all thought, to everything that was not the feeling of Abby and her love, which he could file away in his mind and keep close to him forever.

He was surprised when he felt her head fall to his chest, and felt her tears, warm and wet against his skin. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, as if he would never let go.

But he would. He would have to get up and get dressed, wash his face and head to the airport. He would go to Paris and start a new life with Kem – a new country, a new hospital, a new home. Kem would never know.

Abby would also get up, get dressed, and go home to flood herself with the hot water of the shower and memorize the fleeting feeling of Carter's body against hers. She would concoct a story about a quick nap falling into a night's sleep and Jake would excuse the missed date, never knowing what had transpired the previous night. She would return to life as it was – Jake, work, loving from across an ocean a recipient who had a life as empty as her own.

She turned in his arms so that they were face to face, his arms still cocooning her body against the chill of the room.

"John," she murmured, as he kissed the top of her head. Her voice was husky. "… tell me it's going to be okay."

"It's going to be okay." He kissed her again, slowly – savoring the moment. "It's going to be okay."

_Fin._


End file.
